


Not on Bended Knee

by turtle_wexler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25882153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtle_wexler/pseuds/turtle_wexler
Summary: It’s all Potter’s fault. As per usual. After years together, Hermione and Severus have an overdue conversation. Written for the 2020 SSHG Promptfest.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 55
Kudos: 373
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members, Hot Buttered Cottage Prawn





	Not on Bended Knee

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Vitellia for beta reading.

It was all Potter's fault. It was his wedding that started it.

The much anticipated (by people other than Severus) Potter-Weasley wedding lasted approximately 179 hours. Severus's watch told another story, but he knew the truth. It was an exhausting gauntlet of photographers to dodge, tedious small talk to avoid, screeching songs to Silencio. Joining Hermione for a slow dance was one of the few tolerable moments. She was close and soft and content to let him be quiet with her for a while. Brushing his thumb over the bare skin exposed by the low back of her dress, he contemplated the ideal time to suggest making their escape.

The dance became far less tolerable when an aged relative of the Weasleys circled near them with her unfortunate partner.

"You'll be next!" the termagant said to Hermione, waggling a finger.

Severus did not hex the woman (it would have delayed the aforementioned escape), but it was a near thing.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, that makes a change from comments about my skinny ankles, at least."

Studying her face, Severus kept his expression impassive. Hermione had always been the one to initiate any changes in their relationship status.

_Admit it, Snape. We're friends. In fact, no, not Snape. I'm calling you Severus from now on._

_Severus, I think you should probably kiss me._

_Severus, I want you._

_I love you, Severus._

_Severus, I've been thinking about whether we should move in together, and I made a list of all of the pros and cons. What? Yes, the only con is the difficulty of combining our libraries. That's going to require a lot of shelf space, and neither of us can very well be expected to cull any of our books, can we?_

Marvellous priorities, his Hermione. But in all of those discussions, she had never breathed a word about her thoughts on marriage.

* * *

Dozens of weddings followed the Potters' in quick succession. Each reception was predictably littered with intrusive comments and questions about the status of Severus and Hermione's relationship.

_When are you two going to settle down?_

_Are you ever going to make an honest man out of him, Hermione?_

And the ever-popular, rather ominous: _You're next._

Then, Ginevra fell pregnant. Potter's fault, again. Overnight, the warnings about wedding bells lurking in Severus's future were accompanied by questions about when (not if, _when_ ) he and Hermione intended to reproduce.

As Ginevra grew larger with Potter's already irritating progeny, Severus caught Hermione lingering in the least interesting section of a shop, examining some magical baby-proofing contraption.

Forget marriage. What were her thoughts on _parenthood_?

* * *

Lucius was no help.

One of the albino peacocks sauntered perilously close to Severus, tilting its head back and letting out an absurd squawk. Its call, reminiscent of an injured accordion as it was, sounded like a threat.

"Persuading her to abstain from motherhood is easy," Lucius said with an airy wave of his hand towards the bird. If he was trying to shoo it, the peacock did not care. "Simply borrow a teething infant for an evening. Do you remember the racket Draco used to make? Why do you think we only had one?"

Another warbling, wheezy cry from the albino menace. Severus narrowed his eyes. It was definitely planning something.

"Where would I even obtain such an infant?" he asked.

Lucius shrugged. "You're a resourceful wizard."

Good gods.

"And as for marriage, don't worry," Lucius said. "I doubt Granger is waiting for a proposal. She's quite a modern witch. She likely intends to propose to you."

In hindsight, Severus didn't know why he'd expected any other response.

He turned and marched away, trailed by the echo of Lucius's chuckle and the peacock's disgruntled squawk.

* * *

Severus couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts went into overdrive. Hermione was, in fact, a thoroughly modern witch. If she dropped to one knee and asked him to marry her, what could he possibly say? No, thank you, but please allow me to continue sharing your bed? Unlikely to be successful. Severus had vowed years before, watching his parents' unhappy marriage, that he would never take those vows.

Even if Hermione didn't want to marry, there was still the matter of children.

A compromise would be impossible in this matter. Settling on one child instead of a Weasley-sized brood would not do. Everything in him twisted away from the thought of being a husband and father. He would have no part in raising a child who was not enthusiastically wanted by both parents.

Claws clicked against floorboards as one of the crups approached the bed and pressed a cold nose to Severus's arm. A four-legged alarm clock, perpetually set to too bloody early. Not that it mattered at that moment. Grey light sneaked around the edges of curtains and fanned over the gentle curves of the sleeping body next to him. Nearly dawn. If sleep insisted upon eluding him, there was no point in putting off the start of his day.

The crups danced around his legs, their forked tails wagging as he opened the door to the back garden and let them out. Wenlock, Hermione's kneazle, greeted them with a threatening glare that proved as effective as Severus's classroom glower had ever been. Severus needed to introduce Wenlock to Lucius's peacocks.

All of the pets had been Hermione's idea, of course, presented to Severus with another pros and cons list. As they were mostly self-sufficient, he had consented. Leaning against the doorframe, he stared at the animals. Had Hermione been testing the waters, preparing him for an eventual request for a baby?

Their cottage had been magically extended by the previous occupant: an elderly witch who had taken her design cues from rabbits. The twisting warren of interconnected rooms were now mostly lined with sagging bookshelves. Hermione had suggested converting the loft to make more space for their ever-expanding collection. A loft—even a converted one—wouldn't make an ideal nursery, would it?

Stomach churning, Severus magicked up a pot of coffee (Hermione always insisted it tasted better when brewed with her cafetière, but he didn't care about the slight burnt taste as long as it delivered caffeine as quickly as possible) and passed through the kitchen and second library into his Potions laboratory. He had barely retrieved his notes from the desk drawer when Hermione appeared in the doorway, clad in her dressing gown.

"Morning," she said in a drowsy voice.

"Good morning."

"You're up early." Sniffing his mug of coffee, she wrinkled her nose and stole a sip.

"Couldn't sleep."

She perched her arse on the edge of his desk, like always. The first time she'd done it, he'd bristled and started a row that had somehow ended with nudity and Hermione bent over said desk. He had never objected to her desk-sitting again. It had become her spot in his lab—sometimes to chat with him, sometimes to give him that _look_ and suggest he take a break. So many conversations, kisses, and touches in this room.

He needed a plan to distract her from the inevitable _we need to talk_ moment. Something to buy himself time to compile more arguments against having children. Honestly, the fact that they were _children_ should have been sufficient. Perhaps if Minerva asked Hermione to take a position as a guest professor for a year or so. Teaching class after class of little miscreants would make her see sense.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Nothing."

"No, it's something. You've been weird for days. All… Potions Master-like."

"I _am_ a Potions Master."

"Yes, obviously, but you're behaving like you used to when you taught at Hogwarts. Distant and cold and… and…"

"I am those things as well."

"Not with me."

Her lower lip trembled. Fuck.

They needed to talk. If her future happiness truly hinged on being a mother, how could they begin to untangle their lives? He would have to move to another country. Seeing Hermione with some dunderhead's offspring would be intolerable.

"Do you wish to get married?" Severus asked.

It was the easier question. The less terrifying question.

She looked at him as if she'd taken another gulp of burnt, magically brewed coffee. "Are you _proposing_?"

"No." For fuck's sake. "I am asking if it is something you see yourself doing at any point in the future."

"I… Severus. You don't think… I don't actually expect us to be next, no matter what Ron's aunt Muriel has to say on the matter. The idea that a couple _has to_ marry is as outdated as… Well, as Ron's aunt Muriel. I'm happy as we are. Aren't you?"

"Yes." He didn't allow himself to exhale in relief. Not yet. "And children? Do you want to be a mother?"

He had anticipated many reactions: a wistful smile, a hopeful gleam in her eyes. Not once had he imagined a snorting laugh.

"God, no. Do you want to be a father?"

"Absolutely not."

"Well, good." She snorted again. "Glad we're on the same page. I have so many questions. Not least of which is what on earth made you think I wanted kids?"

"You were looking at baby-proofing paraphernalia."

"Well," she said, putting on her _speaking to Potter and Weasley_ voice, which Severus did not appreciate, "we aren't having children, but my friends are. And when those children are born, their parents might occasionally bring them to visit."

"Not if we make the cottage Unplottable."

"Mm. That's an option we can explore if the possibility of us babysitting is ever brought up. In the meantime, our books and such will need protecting."

This was a valid point. The tension between his shoulder blades eased, and the weight he'd been carrying in the pit of his stomach began to lift. Tugging on his elbow, Hermione directed him into the chair.

"I have a proposal," she said. "Not a marriage proposal, mind. I'd still get on bended knee, but—" she slid off of the desk, straddling his lap, "I prefer this position."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I can see the advantages of both."

She laughed that low, throaty laugh that he'd only ever heard when they were alone. "I bet you can. Anyway, my proposal. I propose that we never marry. Not even a secret elopement to Gretna Green. We will live in sin—"

"That's—"

"Shut up, please. I'm trying to be romantic."

"Ah. I hadn't realised. By all means, carry on with your attempt."

"I'll show you _attempt_. Now, as I was saying. We will live here—sinfully, thank you." Brushing a kiss over the scar on his throat, she lowered her voice. "Surrounded by our books and laboratory equipment and absolutely no children."

"That does sound agreeable," he said.

"I thought so."

Another kiss along his jaw inspired a responding shift of his hips. Slowly loosening the belt of her dressing gown, Severus cupped her breast. Her skin was soft, still warm from sleep.

With a pleased hum, he shoved the dressing gown off of her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Perfection. Years together hadn't dulled the thrill of seeing her naked body, no matter how familiar the sight became. Severus kissed a trail from her collarbone down to her chest.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Yes what?"

"Yes to your excellent proposal."

"Oh." She chuckled. "Well, good. Is this your attempt to be romantic now?"

"Of course not. It is my attempt to prevent a barrage of questions by fucking you on my desk."

"I think you should have realised by now that I can multitask."

"I did say _attempt_."

Her laugh was cut short by a gasp when he slipped a hand between her legs. The way she tilted her head back—eyes closed, lips parted—was as familiar as the shape of her body. Back at the nervous, uncertain start of their relationship, he had devoted considerable time to studying her reactions. Now, he knew the stutter in her breath that meant she was close, knew when to slow the movement of his fingers to make her whimper and plead.

The sharp scrape of her teeth against his neck wasn't a surprise. Nor was the way she grew impatient with his teasing, hauled herself back onto the desk, and commanded him to _get on with his attempt already_. With his forehead pressed against hers, he obeyed.

Again: perfection.

* * *

Later, as Severus tried to shower away his sleep deprivation, Hermione entered the bathroom, brandishing a sealed roll of parchment.

"The Malfoys' owl brought this for you," she said. "I think Wenlock may have traumatised the poor thing."

"None of Lucius's birds are _poor things_ , I assure you. Would you read it out for me?"

Through the steamed-fogged shower screen, Hermione was a fuzzy outline. As Severus closed his eyes and placed his head beneath the spray of hot water, the dry rustle of parchment was followed by a lengthy (too lengthy) pause.

"Severus."

Oh. That tone could mean anything from amusement to fury. If it was the latter, Severus would feed Lucius to his precious peacocks.

"Yes?" he said.

"Why on earth is Lucius Malfoy writing to tell you that he has found a source for a teething infant?"

Severus gave her the only reply that came to mind.

"It's Potter's fault."


End file.
